


Love in a Time of Inquisition

by Burning_Beaker



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9115444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Beaker/pseuds/Burning_Beaker
Summary: Professor Bram Kenric quickly and thoroughly falls for the overwhelmingly charming Scout Lace Harding. Lace finds that she has a great deal in common with this utterly dorky nobleborn man she's got to keep alive. Romance and gleeful interference from the Inquisitor ensues.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Throughout the work you may notice Bram switching between "Scout" and "Lady". It's 90% based on how distracted he is - when he's not thinking he reverts to his training and uses "Lady". It's 10% me not being consistent.

Lace looked up from her bowl when someone sat next to her on the log. Professor Kenric smiled and bowed his head.

“Lady Harding,” he said. Lace chuckled and shook her head.

“ _Scout_ Harding, Professor” she corrected, idly stirring her stew with her spoon.

“Ah, yes, I apologize. I'm afraid it's force of habit. I will endeavour to break myself of it.”

“Oh, I don't mind. But remember that it's Lord Winters, if you ever meet him. Not Lady.”

“Ah, s- er, he is the scout who very kindly rescued my knapsack from the river, yes?”

 

Boy, that had been a mistake, thinking the Professor could carry his own provisions. Scout Winters had volunteered to dive into the deep waters, despite the fish that looked, in Lace’s opinion, ready to murder. Scout Winters was also a Dalish-born elf who, despite being raised in the city, had some of the most extensive tattoos Lace had ever seen. People tended to comment on that first. But not the Professor. That was a nice change.

 

Lace nodded and took a bite of her dinner. “So,” she joked once she'd swallowed enough to speak, “Are you regretting your decision to do fieldwork yet?”

“Oh, absolutely not! The whole experience has been wonderful, and I look forward to working more extensively with you- er, the, ah, whole scouting team. It truly is a fascinating collection of people.”

 

Lace looked around the fire at the hodge-podge of Humans, Dwarves, Elves and even a couple Qunari. None of them had more than a rudimentary education, having either grown up in the countryside or in the poorer parts of cities. If she gave them one of the fancy outfits from the Winter Palace, they'd probably be able to name two things on it. Hardly the sort of person a nobleman like the Professor would be enthusiastic to spend the next few months with.

 

“Er- if you don't mind me asking, La- uh, Scout Harding, how did you come by your impressive set of skills?”

Lace turned back to look at him. He was watching her intently, his interest seemingly genuine.

 

He even laughed at all her silly jokes.

* * *

The first time he heard it, he had barely been in the Frostbacks a week. The cheery, bold way in which the performer hummed, however, had caught his attention enough to inspire him to rise from his seat and peer out the window of his new office. But the range of vision was too narrow, leaving him only a memory of the enchanting melody.

 

The second time he heard it, he had been in the Basin almost three weeks. It had been a sufficiently long enough period of time to necessitate Lady Harding rescuing him four times. His sense of survival was improving, however. Enough so that her sudden and often dramatic appearances in his life were diminished. Now their meetings consisted more commonly of her delivering some interesting new find to his cottage, or updating him on the progress of various scouts seeking items or places for the research team. Bram Kenric found himself more verbose around her; with ever-increasing frequency he would talk off onto some tangent, and Lady- _Scout_ Harding would just smile at him. She was truly too kind, allowing him to blabber on. Occasionally she would even continue the discussion. He quite enjoyed those moments.

Thus upon hearing the humming again, Bram did not hesitate to cast aside his work and step out into the cool breeze.

Lady Harding was passing below, on the worn path. Some manner of deceased animal was slung over her shoulder. She was humming, loudly, unapologetically. When she turned to momentarily speak to one of her subordinates, Bram was blessed with Scout Harding's genuinely happy smile, albeit not directed at himself. He decided then and there that he would henceforth take every opportunity to hear and see her so at peace.

 

The third time he heard it, the Scout Harding was walking away from a meeting with the Inquisitor. Bram watched Scout Harding through the window of his cabin, as he did with a frequency he would not admit. When the Inquisitor came to visit him, after the requisite discussion of progress, Bram finally worked up the courage.

“So,” the Inquisitor said at the end of Bram's update, “Is there anything you need?”

“Er- yes, but it is… personal in nature, your Worship.” Already the courage was ebbing.

“Oh? What is it?” The Inquisitor was truly too kind. Anyone else in as high a position as her would surely not have the time or interest to attend to private matters of a lowly researcher.

“Ah, well, you see, Lady Harding was humming a song after her meeting with you, and I wonder if perhaps you know its name?”

 

Though the Inquisitor would have been quite within her rights to be annoyed by such a puerile question, she only smiled. “I hear that's her favorite song, actually. _Ballad of Nuggins_ , I'm told. I'm sure I can find the words for you, if you'd be interested.”

Bram brightened up at that. Scout Harding would be impressed if he could sing along with- or perhaps not, given his lacking in vocal performance. His upbringing had stringently discouraged singing anywhere outside a Chantry. Occasionally he would hum whilst he excavated, but now that he was a Professor he was supposed to be too serious for that. In any case, he had never been good at converting written lyrics into a musical piece. He hadn't the ear for it.

 

The Inquisitor seemed to sense his hesitation; she amended, “Perhaps it might be better to hear it sung. I believe Scout Balesly knows the song well, and has enough sensitivity to keep the matter private. When Scout Harding next leaves the camp, I suggest you find yourself in need of a scout for a brief excursion into the woods. I shall speak to his superior and make sure he will be in the escort.”

 

Which is why, the fourth time he heard it, Bram Kenric dared to join in. It had taken hours of practicing, first with Balesly and then with a very exasperated Colette. But now he could hum it perfectly, and generally get the words right. So when he heard her humming as she walked ahead of him, guiding him to some new ruin Colette had found, Bram began to hum too. He even - and this truly showed the extent of his infatuation, if he were willing to do this - joined in with the few words he was positive belonged. After a meek “Nuggins, Nuggins,” from Bram, Scout Harding looked back at him with a grin that made it all worthwhile.

“I wouldn't have taken you for the type to know that,” she commented.

 

Balesly had told him to say that he'd picked it up in taverns. Colette had told him to say he'd picked it up from listening to Scout Harding. But Bram had never been much of one for lying, which was why he mumbled, “Oh! Ah, yes, well, I heard you humming it and I asked the Inquisitor what the song was. She kindly pointed me to someone who could teach it to me. It's very catchy,” he added, in an attempt to appease her. Scout Harding’s eyebrows rose, her lips issuing a surprised laugh, and she shook her head.

“I’m glad you like it,” she chuckled. He couldn’t help but notice her smile lasted a little longer.


	2. Natural Constitutionals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two times Bram dared to venture outside the walls of the camp... but only because Scout Harding was there.

He had always read that nighttime in the forest was a soothing sight to behold, but he suspected not quite so many dangerous beasts lurked in the forests of fables. Nevertheless the camp seemed safe enough, especially since Scout Harding was here. Her company was quite pleasant, too, come to that. When she wasn't scaring him for a laugh.

 

Sufficient questioning of slightly suspicious Inquisition personnel finally led him to her. She was off-duty, they'd said admonishingly, but he could be persistent on important matters. Indeed, he could…  _ buckle down _ on them. He would have to remember to tell that to Scout Harding. The way she rolled her eyes at him and released a little sigh was most charming.

 

She sat on a little hill beyond the safety of the walls, and normally Bram wouldn't dare leave it without several guards (or Scout Harding). But tonight he didn't give it a second thought. Her back was to him, yet before he was even within arm’s reach of her she said flatly, “It's dangerous out here, Professor.” At first blush it seemed a chiding hint that she did not want company, but there was her usual teasing tone on the edge of her voice.

“Not if you're with me,” he returned, proud of his repartee. He hadn't much success, at first, answering her teases, but he'd plenty of opportunities to practice.

 

Lady Harding glanced over her shoulder at him, her somber face holding only a glimmer of a smirk. “I can barely protect you from yourself,” she said, the playfulness in her words mysteriously weak. It was really a pity she did not sit in the moonlight; that was always how the beautiful women in those stories were illuminated. Bram would have quite liked to better see her face lit by the shadow-spackled light of the nighttime sky. Her freckles in particular were very intriguing.

 

Bram closed the distance and sat next to her, his feet dangling over the lip of the overhang upon which she was perched. “How did you know it was me?” he asked, wondering if he'd sat too close.

“You weren't trying to sneak, first off. And you walk different than any of my people.” She did not look at him as she spoke, choosing instead to stare out into the woods. It was fascinating that she could so quickly recognize his gait.

 

They sat in silence for a while, Bram trying to remember the names of the birds calling from far above them. Lady-  _ Scout _ Harding had taught him the names, but there were so many…

Eventually she broke the quiet: “So, what did you need?”

“Hmm? What?” His mind required time to refocus.

“You must have needed something, to come hunting me down,” she explained, finally turning her gaze upon him. Her eyes were quite a striking green. Even without their usual twinkle of playfulness.

“Oh, I was just looking for you,” he replied, unfortunately before he could consider his words.

“What for?” she prompted, that familiar twinge of annoyance in her voice.

 

That was an excellent question. He hadn't thought about it, truth be told. It had simply seemed natural to seek her out whilst he had some spare time. How very strange. She was very good company, though.

“Uh-... I don't believe I had a reason,” he admitted, puzzled by his actions.

“Oh.” For a moment her eyebrows raised in surprise, but they quickly lowered into a mild downward tilt. “Well, I'm afraid I won't be very good company tonight.”

“Nonsense, you're always- ah.” He'd cut himself short as he realized that she was, in a word, displeased. Hopefully not at him. Survival instinct told him to remain silent and possibly remove himself from her range of fire, but then her face sort of  _ buckled  _ (Maker, he hadn't even meant it as a joke) and he couldn't leave her. Not when she was unhappy. “Whatever is wrong?” he asked softly, hoping he did not sound too alarmed.

“I lost another scout today,” she said quietly, returning her attention to the trees.

“Lady Harding, I am so sorry.” He wanted so badly to put a hand to her shoulder, to somehow assuage her suffering.

“It comes with the job. It's just… It's hard, you know?”

“No, I don't,” he commented, causing her to turn to him again, “I can't possibly imagine what you must be going through. I'm so sorry.” Through the leather and chainmail, her shoulder was warm.

 

Lady Harding, her sweet round befreckled face angled as she peered up at him, said unsurely, “Thanks. Ser.”

“Bram,” he urged. An errant thought suggested he ought to remove his hand. His hand apparently disputed that claim.

She regarded him for what felt like an age. He began to regret, in equal measure, wearing gloves and daring to touch her at all. How very perplexing.

“Lace,” she said suddenly.

“What? Where?” he asked, glancing behind himself in case a deadly Lace spider or some such had crept up. Lady Harding merely laughed at him. It was such a relief to hear her happy again.

“That's my name, scaredy-cat.”

“Lace?” he tried. Lace Harding. That was a very pretty name. His heart performed minor acrobatics.

“My mother likes the stuff, don't laugh,” she defended, smirking all the same.

“Oh, no, I think it's quite lovely!” he exclaimed hurriedly. Lady- Scou-  _ Lace  _ gave him a strange look.

“...well, thanks. I like it.”

 

Bram felt he had not fully convinced her of his sincerity, so he hastened to clarify: “As well you should - it is lovely indeed. So much better than mine, don't you think? Imagine: Lace Kenric. It sounds so much better than  _ Bram _ , doesn't it?”

 

Lace blinked at him, her eyebrows pulled high above her eyes. Then her brows settled into their easy camber of good humor. “Bram Harding sounds alright,” she commented.

“Yes,” he said, eager to agree with her on anything and everything, “The cadence is much better. Perhaps we ought to exchange family names.” He gave a little chuckle at his attempt at humor, but her bemused yet non-laughing expression indicated it had been an unsuccessful attempt.

 

“Yes, well, I think perhaps we ought to catch some shut-eye,” she said, rising to her feet. His hand slid off her shoulder, reminding him that he had been horrifyingly uncouth in the longevity of his physical contact. She must think him a cad!

 

That night, as he settled under the prickly sheet of his camp bed, realization stuck. Had he really proposed  _ Lace Kenric?  _ Maker protect him, it was a wonder she hadn't slapped him!

 

…nevertheless, it sounded very lovely indeed.

* * *

 

* * *

 

“You want to climb  _ that _ ?”

They looked up at the rock, which struck Bram as rather imposing, but was probably a pebble under Lace’s skilled hands. And feet.

“The statue atop the outcropping looks fascinating, and occasionally there are ancient engravings from contemporary figures. Statues can be quite informative.”

“You understand you'll have to walk across that mossy log, right?” Lace inquired, pointing at the natural bridge.

“Yes.”

“You'll fall off.” It was stated as a simple fact, which stung a little. He wasn't  _ that _ clumsy. Not all the time, at any rate. Granted, his clumsiness did increase in her presence; an unfortunate trait that he strongly felt must be remedied. He did not wish to be a burden to her - certainly no more than he already was.

“I believe I can manage. Please?”

* * *

Bram managed to scramble all the way to the top of the rocks whilst incurring only minor scrapes to his shins and knees. Lace had held his hand twice during the climb, which made whatever blood that was spilled or skin that was lost entirely worthwhile.

 

“Alright, are you  _ sure _ you want to do this?” Scout Harding asked dubiously, standing at the start of the bridge. Bram was cautiously standing a step back, which was unfortunate but necessary if he didn't want to shame himself in front of her by falling to his messy demise.

 

He looked at her, here in the midday sun filtering through the leaves. Her sparkling eyes were gazing up at him, so deep, so warm. Those hands, now hanging at her sides, had felt so right in his. She felt so right at his side - or perhaps he should say he felt so right at hers. Dangerously fanciful and romantic feelings swelled in his chest.

“If you are at my side, Lady Harding, I can do anything.”

Lady Harding rolled her eyes at him with a smirk. “Sweet-talking me won't convince me any more that you won't go pitching off the side. I'd rather not have you turned to paste on the forest floor, if you don't mind.”

“Please?” he wheedled, “I'll be careful?”

Lace stared him down for a long time, before giving up with a sigh.

“Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

 

She didn't hold his hand, which was disappointing but reasonable. “Don't want you dragging me with you!” she'd laughed, but then she'd gone first to find the safest path for him. Every few steps, she'd turn to look back at him, carefully making his way along the mossy wood. Once, his boot slipped, and though he barely heard anything, she spun around instantly. Her hands were gripping his jacket before he'd even fully comprehended what had happened.

“I thought I told you not to fall off and die!” she chuckled tensely, her fingers still clinging to him.

* * *

Andraste preserve him, because it sure seemed like  _ Lace _ couldn't. How this man had survived the treacherous stairs at his university she'd never know.

That wasn't entirely fair. Compared to her scouts, yeah, he was worse than a newborn kitten, but compared to your average person… he was still pretty bad. But not as much. And this  _ was _ tricky going… for a newborn kitten. However, much like a newborn kitten, any annoyance at his uselessness was mitigated by how adorable he was. He was just so…  _ eager _ . It was hard to stay mad at him.

 

And he wasn't just eager. He was nice. Most nobles she'd had to escort politely declined taking their meals with the scouts. But he (and Colette when she wasn't eating while working) would join his escort for every meal. He'd learned the life history of every scout who'd cared to share, and seemed to remember a good portion of it, too. When he and Colette had settled into their quarters, he'd given Scout Kardan a book on Orlesian history for Kardan’s daughter. The Professor had also begun a correspondence with the little girl, telling tales of Free Marches heroes. All because Kardan had mentioned that his child was an avid student of history.

 

And now here he stood, having barely survived the crossing, enthusiastically teaching Lace what little he knew of ancient statuary. His eyes were bright as his gaze darted between the statue and herself, his hands gesticulating their way through a Dalish myth. That silly hat of his was lopsided and a tad muddy. She thought it a pity he didn't remove the blasted thing so she could see his hair in the sunlight again. If her memory served, it was a rather pleasant sight.

  
Come to that,  _ he _ was a pleasant sight, and pleasanter company. But those thoughts were even more dangerous than letting him climb up here.


	3. A Humorous Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bram tries an Avaar delicacy. It is not entirely to Bram's liking.

When Lace returned from Colette's latest dangerous venture, the main camp had been overrun with unexpectedly friendly Avaar. They had brought gifts and things to trade and, from the smell of it, a shoal of dead fish.

 

“Lady Harding! Uhhh I mean, Scout Harding!” Bram amended awkwardly when she turned to give him a teasing Look. He came rushing up to her side and held out his arm in what appeared to be an unconscious return to his Gentlemanly Training in his youth. As soon as he realized he'd offered the Scout Lieutenant his arm to take, he sheepishly chuckled and returned his arm to his side, where it belonged.

“If you have a moment, may I show you what our new guests have brought?” he asked eagerly. How could she say no to that?

* * *

Lace's gaze switched between the woman’s smiling face and Bram's considerably more strained expression.

“Ah, well, thank you,” he said, reaching out to take the pickled fish being brandished at him. When the Avaar turned a questioning eye on Lace, she begged off with a smile and a claim that she'd just eaten.

Taking pity on Bram's concerned visage, Lace offered him an escape: “Well, Professor, we need to discuss your next moves. Colette's found something.” Lace lightly put a hand to the small of his back and guided him away.

 

Once they were out of earshot and sight, Lace leaned over to him: “You don't have to eat that, you know.”

“It was very generous of the Avaars to bring us so much, especially with winter approaching,” he said, not sounding particularly convinced.

“Yeah, I guess the Inquisitor's really impressing them. But you look like you'll vomit if you eat that.”

Bram carefully twisted his wrist to examine the fish. “Yes, well, they eat it all the time, so it must be alright…” he murmured. With a sharp, bracing inhalation, Bram stiffened his shoulders and took a bite.

* * *

Lace crouched next to the man, collapsed on his knees and curled towards the ground.

“Do you want some water?” she asked gently. One of his fists, which had been pressed to the soil, weakly lifted.

“Yes, please,” Bram replied weakly.

Reaching to her back, she unhooked her water canteen and held it under his face. Bram slowly sat upright and chugged half the canteen down in one go.

“That was…”

“Horrifying?” Lace offered, smiling.

“... Educational,” he finished, removing a handkerchief from an inner breast pocket and wiping his mouth.

“That was very brave of you,” she chuckled, screwing the lid of the canteen back on. Bizarrely, Bram's face lit up. As much as deathly green can light up, that is.


	4. Hakkonite Havoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jaws of Hakkon cause Bram a great deal of worry - not only does Lace have to fight them, but once she's finished them off she has to leave. Damned inconsiderate of them, really.

At first it seemed purely spur of the moment. Everyone was happy about the Hakkonite camps being cleared out along the river bank - it was natural to celebrate. But later, as Lace mulled it over, she realized that no other good news had been greeted with dancing. Then one of the scouts commented on passing, “It's funny the Inquisitor encouraged Wall and I to get folk dancing, but then Her Worship didn't join in.” and Lace began to get very suspicious.

 

When someone produced a fiddle and someone else a flute, the Inquisitor materialized next to Lace. She was watching some of the scouts start a circle dance, her arms crossed in bemusement.

“You ought to join them,” the Inquisitor said, “I hear you're quite good at dancing.”

“What? I- yes, I like to think I am,” Lace stammered, flattered that the Inquisitor knew so much about her.

“Your Professor seems to need your assistance,” the Inquisitor commented lightly, nodding across the way at Bram. He was watching the dance with his typically enraptured expression.

“He always needs my assistance,” Lace sighed with an attempt at exasperation. But the Inquisitor seemed to notice her little smile. Damn. The Inquisitor smiled too. “Go on then, rescue the poor man.” When Lace opened her mouth to speak, the Inquisitor threatened with a devious smirk, “Or I shall call him over and tell him you're an expert on old folk dances.”

 

Lace regarded the Inquisitor with a mixture of respect at her directness and outrage that she would dare. “You're-! You're terrible, uh, Your Worship,” she added awkwardly. The Inquisitor just laughed.

“So I'm told. Now shoo. Before I start to make things embarrassing.”

This was utterly ridiculous… but the Inquisitor seemed serious, and Lace enjoyed embarrassing situations as much as the next person, so off she went.

 

“Ah, Lace- er, Lady Harding! I was hoping I'd find you!” Bram exclaimed happily, as though he'd actually been doing anything.

“Want me to teach you?” Lace asked, gesturing towards the dancers. She could feel the Inquisitor's gaze on the back of her head.

Bram's face lit up, mostly with his adorably academic interest in learning new societal events (as he'd once called them, to her laughter). But she could not help but notice the flush of his cheeks, the way his hands seemed to move without thinking to hold each other. He was nervous.

 

Excellent. His awkwardness would cover hers.

 

Maker, she lo- really liked the feel of his hand in hers.

* * *

The Inquisitor stayed behind to speak further with the chief, which fortunately allowed Bram a moment to speak privately with Lace. However, as soon as she realized he was looking at her, she smirked and asked, “So are you going to demand everyone call you Skald now?”

That was far from his primary concern, so he could only manage the briefest of chuckle.

“Ah, no. Lady Harding-” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but had long since given up trying to get him to call her Scout. “I… it seems unfair to use the term ‘prayer’, as I am hardly religious enough. Yet I can well imagine resorting to it while…” His nervously wandering eyes caught her confused gaze, and he cleared his throat. “I will be praying for your safe return, Lace,” he whispered, unsure how she would react to him using her given name in so public a setting.

 

But she did not sigh, or smack his arm, or walk away in anger. She just smiled, small and sweet. “That's awfully nice of you, Kenric.”

That he could not bear. Despite his lifelong training in etiquette, he stopped dead in his tracks and snatched up her hands.

“Please,  _ Bram _ ,” he urged gently. His actions appeared to have surprised her as much as they had him. Her lovely eyebrows were raised, her mouth open to respond.

“... I'll be careful, don't worry. I do this kind of stuff all the time,” she said quietly.

* * *

Lace walked behind the Inquisitor's party as they entered the gates, because now was a time for legends, not the small people behind the scenes. So she was neither surprised nor displeased when the chorus of greetings were directed solely towards the Inquisitor. No one deserved them more than her.

 

But then she heard a familiar voice cry, “Lady Harding!” and she couldn't help but smile. For a change he was standing up on the tree platform, but that still allowed him plenty of stairs to stumble on as he tripped his way over. It was just as well; it gave her time to wipe some of the blood off.

“Lady Harding,” Kenric-  _ Bram _ repeated with relief as he neared her. She expected him to continue on - effusively, as he'd say - but instead he just threw himself to his knees and snatched her hand. Before she - and very likely he - could realize what was happening, he held her hand with both of his and firmly pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Lady Harding, I am  _ so _ glad you're alright,” he murmured in that adorable brogue of his.

“Told you I'd be fine.”

  
It wouldn’t be quite right to say he followed her like a puppy for the rest of the night. But somehow, when the dancing started again, there he was by her side. Nervously and awkwardly asking if she might teach him the dances. Lace felt there was no better way to spend the evening.

* * *

 

Bram had taken an interest in adopting a more active lifestyle since he'd arrived here. Though she never outright said anything, he could sense that Lace thought he was… he wasn't entirely sure what. Weak, perhaps, or simply sedentary. In any case, nothing he wanted to be, hence this morning stroll.

 

It was fortunate he'd adopted such a hobby, since he would have otherwise not realized in time that she was leaving. She stood by the gates, pointing at a map spread out upon a table. She stood atop a stool, which inexplicably made Bram smile.

When some of the scouts noticed his approach, they shifted away from the table, watching him. But Lace just smiled at him, and suddenly he didn't care that her companions all appeared to wish a great distance between themselves and him. They were, to a person, slowly inching away.

“Hey there, Professor, what can I do for you?” Lace asked cheerfully, leaning on her palms. Such a woman of action. She strongly resembled the illustrations of heroes of old, preparing for the final battle.

“Lady- uh, Scout Harding, are you planning an expedition?” Had Colette found some ruin and called for exploration without informing him? That would be most uncharacteristic.

“I guess you could say that. I've gotta go scout out the Exalted Marches for the Inquisitor.”

“Really? I don't suppose I could accompany you? I've heard the elves had some truly fascinating buckles, but unfortunately there is such a racial bias that there is precious little research on the subject.”

Lace bellowed a laugh and shook her head. “We're going to see if the place is safe for the _Inquisitor_ , Professor. I don't think you'd fare well. I can barely keep you alive in camp.”

“Well then, you shall have to regale me with your adventures. Do you suppose you could keep an eye out for any interesting artifacts as well?”

Her eyebrows tilted in and up, a picture of concern. “If I see anything I'll send it to you, but I might not be able to regale you. There was no mention of where my next posting would be."

 

The Exalted Marches were a very long way away. Though it was perfectly predictable that someone as talented as Lace would be called upon for greater tasks than tending a professor, Bram had always implicitly assumed she would remain here. With him.

“Ah. I… see. “ Although even he had realized he held more than a professional interest in Scout Harding, Bram was surprised by the sinking sensation in his chest. There were still so many words unshared, so many thoughts and… feelings kept private.

 

“Don't worry, I'm sure whoever my replacement is will do a great job,” she said, her smile just a little false.

“But they cannot replace _you_ ,” he sighed. If he had anything to lose now he would have been embarrassed by his directness. It was certainly unexpected by Lace; her eyebrows flattened and rose in surprise, before settling into a minute tilt of playfulness.

“Yeah, they'll have their hands full keeping you alive.”

 

Bram shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he tried to decide how to proceed.

“Lady Harding… when shall I see you again?”

Her fingers curled closed on the map, but she nevertheless smirked at him. “You _did_ hear me just say you'll probably get a replacement, yes?”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean I won't see you.” Inspiration struck. “Do you ever return to Skyhold?”

 

Lace gave him a look that clearly stated her complete lack of faith in his sanity. “Yes, but _you_ don't.”

“I could,” Bram defended, idly adjusting his hat.

They regarded each other for a long time (or at least it felt that way to him) before she said, “That'd be an awful waste of your time. We've not many ancient buckles in Skyhold. Not that I'm aware of anyhow.”

“Well, I need to submit my research, and I'm sure my parents would appreciate my socialization with the Skyhold court,” he rationalized.

Lace didn’t seem convinced. “I would imagine you’d be needed here.”

 

Sighing, Bram stared through the map on the table. “Yes, you are right, of course.”

Ducking her head a little to try and catch his gaze, Lace added with a smirk, “You’re not much for socializing anyway.”

“Well,” he replied sulkily, looking up at her, “Not with _most_ people.”

Her lips smiled, but her eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners like they did when she laughed. “You’ll be alright, Bra- er, Professor,” she amended, glancing at two scouts lost deep in a conversation near the table, “You’ve made friends with everyone in camp anyway. I’m sure they’ll keep you alive and buried under buckles.”

Being kept alive was not Bram’s main concern at the moment. It was unfortunate she seemed to think it was. Endeavoring to clarify his apparent omission, Bram said, “It is _our_ friendship for which I fear, Lady Harding.”

“ _Scout_ ,” she corrected idly, smirking at him through her eyelashes. After a moment’s thought, she allowed, “I might be able to swing by. No promises,” she added hurriedly, doubtless due to the hope Bram felt growing unbidden in his expression, “but sometimes I do rounds of our encampments. We’ll see.”

 

A thought, which he would have considered hazardous at any other time, suddenly struck Bram: “May I write to you? I know you shall be very busy, and of course I do not wish to become a vexation in your life.” Chuckling to himself, he joked, “More than I already am during expeditions, that is.”

Lace laughed, her eyes finally matching the joy in the curve of her mouth. “You may have the survival instinct of a puppy, but you’ve never been vexing. Very much, anyway. I… I would like it if you wrote me.”

 

Bram’s heart buoyed up, every fiber of his noble training trying to restrain his elated grin. “Truly?”

“Yeah,” Lace said, dusting something off the map, “It’d be nice. I won’t always be able to write back,” she cautioned, finally meeting his gaze.

Shaking his head with a smile, he hastily replied, “I completely understand. I don’t wish to be a burden.”

“Alright then.” Idly knocking her knuckles on the table, she looked about at her scouts. “I really ought to get back to planning,” Lace hinted.

Oh dear, already he was disrupting her work! “Yes, yes, do forgive me, my lady,” Bram exclaimed, bowing as he stepped away.

 

“Best of luck to you, Bram,” Lace called, from what was suddenly feeling like a great distance away.

“Best of luck to you too, Lady Harding,” he returned, bowing again.

  
They were little solace, but Bram buried himself in his books and writings for the rest of the day.


	5. Inquisitorial Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor is apparently a hopeless romantic. So is Bram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a very short chapter, but I liked the title so here we are.

The Inquisitor could be really persistent, sometimes.

 

When Lace had finished her report of the area, the Inquisitor had nodded and thanked her scout. But Her Worship did not leave, as she usually did; rather she crossed her arms over her chest and asked with a smirk, “So, Scout Harding, where does your next mission take you?”

“Wherever you go, Ser,” Lace replied with a shrug, wondering what that smirk was about.

“Well, I don't expect I'll be going anywhere new for a while. Where would you like to be posted?”

Lace had never really been asked that before. There were usually more missions than people. This was very peculiar.

“Ser?” she asked hesitantly.

“If you would be interested, I'm sure I can get you posted back to the Frostbacks. One camp in particular, actually.” When Lace just blinked at her uncomprehendingly, the Inquisitor added, “Rife with buckles.”

 

Curse those treacherous cheeks. A scout wasn't supposed to blush. Worse, it seemed to please the Inquisitor, whose smile only grew.

“Ah,” she said, “Shall I take that as a yes?”

“I really don't mind where I'm sent, Inquisitor,” Lace said, hoping she'd manage to convince at least one member of this conversation. It certainly didn't work on herself.

“While I do not doubt that for a moment, Scout Harding, I wager that your cheeks would not color quite so much if I suggested a posting in Emprise Du Lion, for example.”

 

Which was how Lace ended up back at the gates of the camp in Frostbacks Basin. A few scouts greeted her, but the reunion was understated - they had been informed of her imminent return and were therefore underwhelmed by her actual appearance. That was fine by her. She didn't need fanfare when she arrived somewhere. Fanfare didn't work well with a stealth job like scouting.

 

She had made it halfway to the tents when she received a more enthusiastic greeting.

“Lady Harding! You've returned!” Bram's exclamation was followed by several thuds and the faint sound of fluttering parchment. She turned to see Bram come staggering out of his cabin, his hat lopsided on his head. Sensing impending disaster, Lace quickly tossed her pack to the side of the path and hurried around to the cabin stairs. Bram trying to fix his hat  _ and _ navigate elevation changes was doomed to disaster.

 

He only managed to miss the last step, but by then she was waiting for him. She cushioned his fall, his hands grabbing her elbows for support.

“Oh! Thank you for saving me, again,” he said, his cheeks flushed from excitement.

 

She was holding Bram in her arms. And he, to a certain extent, was holding her in his arms. Interesting. Very nice, in fact. Bram enthusiastically babbled his welcome to her, and told her of what had happened while she’d been gone, and asked her how she fared, and went on and on about how happy he was to see her again. 

  
It was nice to be back.


	6. The Romancing Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Lace back at camp, Bram takes it upon himself to be more direct with his romantic intents. Well, maybe not too direct... Fortunately Lace is rather more straight-forward.

Bram Kenric was extremely proud of himself. He had single handedly organized the entire operation, and so far it appeared to have proceeded without a hitch. A few of Scout Harding’s underlings had called her into an important meeting beyond the confines of the walls, allowing Bram unhindered access to her tent. Another of the scouts had supplied him with a beautiful assortment of flowers, which he had successfully hidden from Lace (though admittedly she had never come near his cabin in the interim). Bram had even accomplished his own role without leaving any clues - or at least he believed so. He had deposited the bouquet at the head of her sleeping mat and crept away without any commentary from any witnesses. Nor had he trodden on anything important or knocked something over. This mission had been completed without a single error. Perhaps he wasn't quite as hopeless a leader as he felt when he compared himself to Lace's amazing performance.

* * *

After one last patrol of the walls and a brief conversation with Scout Darby, Lace finally made her way to bed.

 

Only to find that someone else had been there first. A slightly wilted bouquet of flowers, tied with a length of leather cord, was laying on her mat. Whomever had seen fit to give her flowers had tied a rather nice bow in the cord.

 

Lieutenant Scouts did not smile like blushing milkmaids at bouquets of flowers. Fortunately Lace was off-duty, so she was allowed to. However, despite the smile, she was no milkmaid. Her brain quickly whirred into action.

 

Whomever had collected these flowers would have had to know where in the forest to find them, and manage to get there. So it was a scout. But her scouts all knew there was to be no romancing of her - her being their leader and all - and no one left bouquets for a friend. Additionally, if they were going to leave flowers they would have known to put them in water. Especially if the flowers had been left early enough in the day to be wilted - they must have been in her tent through the hot midday sun.

 

When she emerged from her tent, sans flowers (she was not about to explain that to anyone), she caught Scout Pald looking at her. Aha.

“Evening,” Lace said companionably, nodding to her fellow dwarf.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Pald returned, suppressing a smile. She only got formal when she was hiding something.

“Tell me, you wouldn't happen to know anything about a visitor to my tent, would you?” Lace asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Nothing whatsoever, Lieutenant,” Pald said, her grin saying that she knew damn well.

“Uh-huh,” said Lace. “Well, as you clearly don't know, I need to get some water.”

“He didn't-! Uhhh, I mean, alright, Lieutenant.” Whomever (apparently a man) had orchestrated this clearly didn't know the scouts very well, or he wouldn't have let such a bad liar in on it. Worked out well for Lace, though.

 

When Lace returned with a little jug of water, a couple more scouts were standing round the central fire, talking in hushed tones. They predictably stopped once they noticed her approach.

“Good evening, scouts,” Lace said with false obliviousness. They were as fooled as she was by their utterly innocent, nearly-unison reply of “Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“I realize that none of you know anything about anything at the moment, but tell me: where’d the Andraste's Grace come from? The only one I've seen was quite a walk away. Near the route I imagine you took this morning, Halth.”

Halth was very well-informed about flowers, which tended to surprise most people who first met the towering, muscular Qunari woman. Bram had just commented that he would have to learn floral herbology from her. (Why did Lace always have to think about nice stuff he'd done?)

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Halth said with an obedience she’d never sincerely mean in a hundred years. There was a slight pause, before Halth smirked. “As were the hyacinths. And daisies. Aaand the lilies of the valley and that rose. I smoothed the thorns so he wouldn't hurt himself.”

“He didn't even put them in water!” Pald exclaimed, moving to gesture but then thinking better of it and resting her hand on her head.

 

The other scouts immediately looked as innocent as possible.

“I imagine he forgot. I did warn him,” Halth commented, as though she were discussing the weather.

“I see,” said Lace. “Well, such a shame you couldn't tell me anything. Good night, scouts.”

“Good night, Lieutenant,” they said, which was starting to get creepy.

As Lace ducked into her tent, Scout Darby teased, “I'll let him know you like the flowers.”

“No need, scout,” Lace said from within her tent, “I'll tell him myself.”

 

She trimmed the flowers to the sounds of her scouts snickering.

* * *

Reaching up to fuss with the daisy, Lace waited for her knock to be answered. She could hear the tell-tale sounds of mild chaos that always went along with startling Bram. Soon he appeared at the door, his sun-bright smile already beaming.

“Good  _ morning _ , La- Scout Harding!” he exclaimed, rather excitedly for a simple morning visit.

 

Not that it was entirely simple. She had taken the daisy from the bouquet. She never wore flowers, and she only rarely visited Bram in the morning - there generally being little to discuss by then. But today she very much wanted to not discuss a certain subject with him. Not discuss it in very clear terms, as a matter of fact.

 

His eyes had darted almost immediately to the daisy in her hair.

“What a lovely flower!” he said, trying far too hard to not know anything. She would have half-expected him to disavow all knowledge of flowers, or indeed plants.

“Yes, it was in a very lovely bouquet I found left for me,” Lace commented.

“Was it?” he asked, his voice rising both in pitch and tension. His hand reached over to rest on the shelves, but unfortunately it was too far for him to reach. He groped hopelessly in the air for a moment before giving up and folding his hands behind his back.

“Yes. I thought it was a very sweet gesture.”

“Did you?” he asked, his hands unable to decide where they wanted to rest. Front, back, on his hips, hanging at his sides…

“Very much.” Lace took a step further into his cabin, to reduce the potential for external witnesses. “Would you care to smell it?” She gestured at the daisy.

 

Bram's gaze switched from her face to the daisy with a sort of desperation that was really quite endearing. “V-very- uhh, thank you, mi- Scou- uh, um… thank you.”

Poor boy was going to die from this. Andraste preserve him when he learned about the birds and the bees.

 

Bram haltingly leaned down to smell the daisy, which had about as much scent as a leaf. It was rather difficult to ignore how close his lips were to her head, but she feared he may never recover from doing anything like that. Not when he was about to fall apart smelling this odorless flower.

 

“Quite enchanting,” he breathed, moving to stand upright. But that would never do, so Lace put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Before he could keel over or she could have second thoughts, Lace leaned over and quickly kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Bram. They're lovely,” she whispered in his rapidly reddening ear.

  
Before he could die of embarrassment, or she could get carried away and cause more, she took her leave with a smile.


	7. An Errant Poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Colette discovers a poem about Lace that Bram wrote in a state of mild intoxication, and generously decides to return it to him... via Lace.

_Bold and graceful,_

_Beautiful and true,_

_My heart will go no more a’wandering,_

_Now that it knows you._

 

_For now it has its truth,_

_And my soul has its mate,_

_And should you leave a thousand years,_

_Then I've no choice but to wait._

 

_The birds could sing a hundred ages,_

_And all the poets write,_

_But none will capture the beauty_

_Of you on a moonlit night._

 

_Powerful and delicate,_

_Brimming full of grace,_

_No woman can compare,_

_To the lovely, lovely Lace._

 

Oh, Maker preserve him. He had been slightly inebriated the night he'd scribbled that (thanks to some generous scouts), and he still had fire in his veins from Hakkon’s defeat (and the thought of her presence during it all), _and_ he could see her through the window above his desk (Maker she was so beautiful). But he thought he'd safely hidden this away. Why was she now at his door, holding it out to him with a smirk?

 

In truth, it was folded within a note, which he managed to steer his horror-struck mind to read: ‘You really ought to be more careful where you leave your lovesick poems. This was in a stack of notes on ancient Antivan buckles. You're lucky she doesn't snoop.’ It was signed Colette. Maker have mercy on his soul, he would never hear the end of this now. As though she didn't already give him enough grief for asking her what sort of flowers were traditionally given to topside dwarven women. He thought he'd been so subtle, too.

 

As was her modus operandi, Colette had naturally seen fit to send Lace with the letter. Bram truly had the most nefarious research assistant in all of Thedas.

“You alright there? Somebody debunk your unified buckle theory or something?” Lace teased crossing her arms across her bos- _oh Maker no, don't even go there_.

“Did you read this?” he inquired, perhaps a little too tensely (she would later describe it as a barely-audible squeak, but he felt that was a bit much). Habit, accursed habit, caused him to brandish the offending ode at her. Lace obligingly took it and politely began to read. Her eyebrows were already at maximum height when Bram’s mind fully processed the stupidity he had just committed. With a noise that even he had to admit was a terrified yelp, he snatched it back from her in a most ungentlemanly fashion.

 

“Somebody writing you love letters?” she asked with a toothy grin. Before his paralyzed mouth could form a coherent word, Lace’s brows dropped into a furrow. “Wait… that was your handwriting, wasn't it?” Much later, when he had regained sufficient mental capacity to analyze what had occurred, he determined that her voice had become tighter and had lost its playfulness. “Why Professor, I didn't realize you were such a romantic. Some pretty thing waiting for you at home?”

“What? No no no, nothing of the sort!”

Lovely, lovely Lace studied his face for a few moments. Bram wanted very dearly to just ooze between the cracks in the floorboards and never be seen again. Oh, if she found out she would never speak to him again. Or she would laugh him back to the University. Why hadn't he burned this damned parchment?

“Don't tell me you're falling for the Inquisitor? You'll have to get in line,” she chuckled, seeming unconvinced by her own laughter, “Anyway she's with Commander Cullen, and I don't think you can take him.”

 

“No! No, heavens no, not at all. I haven't even _seen_ her Worship in the moonlight!”

“Moonlight?” Lace repeated, perplexed. Bram hadn't thought his stomach could fall _further_.

“You-... H-how far did you read?” he stammered, clutching the traitorous lines to his chest.

“Maker, what exactly did you write?” Lace demanded, taking far too much pleasure in his suffering.

“Nothing at all! I _assure_ you, I would never impugn your honor-” So this is what it felt like to die. Or at least to wish for your own removal from the mortal realm.

 

Lady Harding stared wide-eyed at him. He wanted to turn away, to look anywhere else, but his body seemed frozen. There was no recourse but to regard her wondrous face. It was just as well, for this would surely be his final opportunity to admire it.

Her short little fingers tugged staccato at the glove of her other hand. While his gaze remained locked in place, her eyes darted away, first to the table behind him and then to his shoulder.

“What… are you saying?” she asked quietly. A faint flicker of hope burst into life in the otherwise dark abyss of his chest.

 

Never before or since had Professor Bram Kenric been so utterly at a loss for words. What he wished to say was perfectly clear; what he felt _wise_ to admit, however, was a matter most contentious. His thoughts flew piecemeal in a whirling storm, fed by fear and tempered by the weak warmth of courage.

“It is difficult to find suitable words that rhyme with Lace,” his disloyal tongue blurted.

“You… that's about me?” she inquired, barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

Her confusion elicited the same in him; whom else could his poorly-written words describe?

“Of course,” he replied matter-of-factly.

A half-hearted laugh slipped between her entrancing lips. “Were you drunk or something?”

“No! Well,” he allowed awkwardly, nervously rolling and unrolling the thrice-damned parchment, “I had partaken of perhaps a little too much intoxicant. I was also still rather… enthused about your triumph over the Hakkonites. It may be said I was not entirely in the right state of mind.”

 

Lace looked mildly displeased, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes slowly migrated back to his, and though she twisted her mouth into a smile, her eyes held no sparkle.

“I figured,” she said with fragile lightness.

Bram was momentarily relieved that she hadn't slapped him. However, a fresh horror dawned as he realized he had still conveyed the wrong message.

“Well, I best be off…” wondrous Lace Harding mumbled, shifting away from him, out the door.

“No! Wait! I-...”

 

Time (and his heart) seemed to freeze. Lace stood before him, one foot already planted firmly outside, firmly _away_. Her eyes were dull, unhappy; her lips held straight with only a miniscule droop at the edges to indicate her displeasure. Gloved hands twisted together, a writhing mass he wished so desperately to hold. Hair frizzing out of its elegant braids in the afternoon sun. Maker preserve him - she was gorgeous.

 

His staring must have conveyed his feelings better than his worthless tongue, because Lace’s eyebrows slowly rotated from a downward cant to a horizontal elevation. In a movement that must have taken several ages, at least, her foot lifted and returned to the cabin interior.

“Yes, Bram?” she prompted quietly.

  


His soul panicked, even as his heart melted. What should he say? How could he manage to convey the depth of his affection? Since when had he possessed that great an infatuation? What was he thinking, dreaming of someone like her being in any serious way interested in someone like _him_?

“I… I…” He had experienced less difficulty presenting his roundly ridiculed buckle theory to the school. Lace blinked up at him, her enrapturing deep eyes pinning him in place.

 

Bram’s mind melted. So he turned for advice to the person to whom he turned with increasing frequency when he needed assistance.

“I… don't know what to say,” he admitted, hoping Lace would have a suggestion for him.

A smirk angled up her lips. “Well, you could start by telling me how you feel about me.”

“I adore you,” he replied automatically. Lace's eyes grew wide, and her hands tightened their grip on her arms.

 

Bram was long past thinking. He was so lost in the beauty of _her_ that he hardly realized what he'd said.

“You- you _are_ aware I'm not nobility, right?” she inquired.

“Yes, quite aware,” he replied calmly.

“So you understand that I'm a commoner dwarf?”

“Naturally.”

“And you wrote that little ditty for me?”

“About you, yes,” he corrected, examining the freckles on her cheekbones.

“Well that's-... I'm… I'm really happy to hear that, Bram.”

 

His thoughts had coagulated enough that he fully processed what she'd said. He felt as though he were emerging from a fog into paradise.

“You… you are?”

Her freckles were overcome by an entrancing rosy blush. Bram's cheeks quickly reddened too, as Lace reached behind her and pulled the door shut.

“Of course. You're a very nice man, Bram,” she murmured, and Bram very nearly lost coherence again. Never before had he been in such a situation, amplifying his already painful awkwardness. Thus he fell back upon his gentlemanly education, beaten into him at a young age. He suddenly stepped towards her and scooped her hand up in his. His lips lingered too long on her gloved knuckles, but for once he felt no guilt at breaking the Rules.

 

Quite pleased with his suaveness, Bram moved to stand upright but found his hand retained in a powerful grip. Lace jerked his hand down, keeping his face near hers.

“Professor Kenric,” she whispered in a jokingly chiding tone, “Do you think you can announce all that and get off with a kiss to my glove?”

 

There went his mental capacity again.

“Uh…” said the professor with a book and several treatises to his name.

Lace looked concerned again. Why did she look concerned?

“Bram, if this is making you uncomfortable…”

“Yes. I-I mean no. I mean…” He sighed and bowed his head. “I’m afraid I don't have any experience with… this.”

She had the most charming laugh. “You don't say.”

“I do not want to make a mess of this.” Bram considered his words for a moment. “...more than I already have, at any rate,” he amended.

Leather palms cradled either side of his face. “It's alright, you're really cute when you're all flustered.”

 

His insides were melting into a pleasantly warm goo. At a complete loss for how to proceed, Bram decided to fall to his knees - to bring himself more easily to her level - and let her lead the way.

“Ah, you learn quick,” Lace said, her voice lilting and her eyes sparkling.

 

Maker, her hands were on his face and her voice was intoxicating and oh, he was sure he could feel her hot breath on his chin.

“Lace,” he whispered, “May I kiss you?”

Lace Harding responded by resolutely pressing her lips to his.

  
Bram Kenric was in paradise.


	8. A Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the events of the (main) game, Bram and Lace are still together. They get to meet the families and Bram requests they form their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's got the "Cryptic Conversation" and "Exact Eaves Dropping" tropes, but it was fun and fluffy.

A year after the Inquisitor defeated Corypheus, Bram was still doing research for the Inquisition, and Lace was still helping him. The Inquisitor was wonderful; she made sure that Lace got plenty of other assignments and kept her almost as busy as ever. Yet Lace tended, more often than not, to end up back with Bram. Her official station was wherever his campsite happened to be. It was probably not the most efficient way to run things, but Lace wasn't going to complain. This way they both got what they wanted - buckles, adventure, and each other.

 

Bram was not quite as thrilled to have her gone so often, but he was happy for her. If she was being honest, it was all rather silly; one day he was going to return to his former life, and they would permanently part ways. In the back of her mind, Lace had always known this could never last, as much as she might wish it would. Though at the rate at which she was learning about History Through Buckles, maybe _she_ could go to his university to give lectures.

 

It was a warm summer day when she returned from her latest mission. Bram and his crew had been set up in the Emerald Graves, which had been an adventure all its own. Not her kind - he and the Inquisitor had spent many hours discussing arrangements with the local elves. Colette's presence had indubitably helped as well. Nevertheless, the fervor with which Bram had sworn he held as much respect for elven history as any other race’s had been heartwarming. He'd also been adorably excited to learn all the proper customs to follow when handling elven artifacts. It was a very touchy subject, poking around in the Graves (though any actual Graves were entirely off limits), but Bram appeared to have impressed everyone with his honest appreciation and respect for the elves.

 

He had certainly impressed Lace. It was uncommon to meet a noble who held such high regard for a race that was often only seen in noble houses as lowly servants. If he wasn't careful he was going to make Lace fall in love with him, and that would be most inconsiderate. There was absolutely no point in her becoming any more attached to him than she already was… just as there was no benefit to her acknowledging that she was already lost.

 

It didn't help matters that Bram was waiting for her at the gate, all dressed up in his finest clothes. He held a bouquet of flowers, because he was hopelessly romantic sometimes.

“Welcome back, darling!” he exclaimed. Depending on the day, their terms of endearment were given in different languages. She'd almost forgotten that today was Common day. Pity, she'd learned some more Qunlat words from Iron Bull, and these she could actually teach Bram without him dying from shock.

 

Scout Harding definitely did not blush when he pressed the flowers into her hand and bent over to kiss her cheek. They'd been doing this for over a year now, so it would be ridiculous to suggest she still sometimes colored at his sweetness. The flowers were very lovely, though. More to add to her book of pressings (a gift from Bram after their mutual education on herbology - his teachings theoretical and hers practical).

 

As was customary, once she'd dropped off her travel pack they headed off into the forest for some privacy. Nothing untoward - they simply enjoyed stealing some time alone. Once, after a particularly dangerous mission, she had felt like being untoward. But Bram was an old-fashioned noble, and he had blushingly deferred any untowardness until after marriage. It had disappointed her, for she knew that they would therefore never be untoward with each other, but such was life. He was still fun to pin to the ground and make out with.

 

But today there was no scandalous behavior. Bram took her hand once they were out of sight of the camp, and she stole his stupid-looking hat so she could admire his ruffled hair. He seemed to have some destination in mind, for once, and when she questioned him he blushed and mumbled, “I, uh, we found, um… while we were excavating I saw a lovely place by the river, and it made me think of you.”

Laughing, Lace tugged him in the opposite direction. “If you're trying to take me to the river, you gotta go this way.”

“Really?” he asked, looking around in confusion, “But I thought- oh, yes, I see. I would be lost without you, Lace.”

She snorted. “All the time.”

“No, I meant-...” His silence lasted long enough for her to look up at him. As soon as their gaze met his eyes darted away. “Uh, yes, precisely. I would get lost on the way to sleep, I should think.”

Her laughter rang out among the trees.

 

It really was a beautiful spot. She'd been past here several times but never really thought about it. Maybe he wasn't as hopelessly unobservant as he seemed.

His boots and socks were laid out on a sunny rock, as were hers. He had tripped and fallen into the river (thankfully it was just a shallow stream at that point) and she'd gone splashing in after him. She'd laid _him_ out in the sun, too, because he would definitely manage to catch a cold in summer. But then he made it look so comfortable there in the sunny grass that she'd decided to join him.

 

Her head rested on his soaked arm as they stared up into the trees.

“Lace… I… my cousin is getting married,” he said suddenly, startling her from her semi-dozing state, “We are quite close. It will only be a week or two, I think.”

 

 _A week or two to be told to dump the heretic dwarf and find a suitable match_ , filled in Lace's cynical mind.

“That will be lovely,” she told a tree branch.

“Yes, I expect so. My mother has suggested I bring an old- well, she isn't old, she is my age - acquaintance as my guest.”

“I take it your mother would prefer this lady be more than an acquaintance?”

“Ah-... Yes,” Bram answered miserably. Lace's eyes absolutely did not water, though the leaves inexplicably became much harder to distinguish.

“I see,” she said quietly, because there was nothing else to say.

“Yes, quite… perturbing. I know you won't like it, but I believe it is the best course of action.”

He seemed to be waiting for something, but she was in no state to respond. This was the beginning of the end. She was going to lose him. It had always been their destiny, but it nevertheless stung to face it. Damn nobility and their addiction to superiority.

 

“... What do you think?” he asked meekly. Oh, she was _not_ going to say what she thought.

“I understand, Bram. You have to please your family.”

“What? I do not think they will be pleased at all…”

“Doing what your mother wants?” This man could sometimes be infuriatingly confusing.

“No, I-... Oh. I didn't say what I was thinking,” he admitted, embarrassed. “I know it would be most unpleasant for you, but could I perhaps bring _you_ as my guest? I believe it is high time you become acquainted with my family.”

 

He- wait-... Bram wanted to introduce her to everyone he knew? Lace blinked up at the gently swaying leaves. Her heart performed acrobatics. He wanted her to meet his parents?

Her silence seemed to unnerve him, for he hastily continued, “I know it is a great deal to ask, especially as you would have to be away from your duties for so long. You may also receive… some unpleasantries. It is truly selfish of me to ask, I know, it is just…” She saw him turn his head out of the corner of her eye, and did the same to meet his gaze. Maker, she loved him.

“Bram, of _course_ I'll come with you,” she whispered. He reached out and rested a hand on her cheek.

“Thank you,” he breathed, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone.

 

Two years ago, Lace would have never expected to be doing this. Once she'd been hired on for the Inquisition, she'd kind of put any thoughts of romance on hold. It was hard to find a suitor when everyone was your subordinate and you were being sent all over Thedas anyway. And she had definitely not imagined being in a relationship with a professor. They tended not to go for the scout types, any more than scouts tended to go for academic sorts. But Bram was different. He wasn't the standard human-centered noble. As soon as Colette had mentioned that she had fully trusted him to do right by her, Lace’s interest in him had increased tenfold. And he was genuinely interested in learning about everything. He had eagerly heeded her survival advice, hunting tips, even her opinions on the ruins she had seen in her travels.

 

“Ma vhenan,” he said softly, bringing her attention back to the present, “I never dreamed I could be so fortunate as to have someone like you in my life.”

Lace studied the shifting green of his eyes, illuminated by sunlight. His gaze kept darting between her eyes, his hand resting on her cheek. She was just about to lazily stretch over to kiss him when he blurted “Ar lath, ma vhenan.”

 

Lace was nearly certain she knew what that meant. There were enough elves in the Inquisition's Scouts for some of them to have become love-sick. But Bram’s accent was far from theirs, and she sure wasn't going to just  _ guess _ its meaning.

“You… love me?” she breathed, reaching out to grip his shoulder. If for no other reason than he was paling to an almost alarming extent.

“Yes. I- I hope this is not a great- a- a terrible surprise. I do apologize most profusely if-”

 

Lace pulled him closer and kissed him. She kissed him rather thoroughly, in fact. When she eventually sat up to take some of the weight off his chest, she cradled his cheek.

“I love you too, Bram.”

* * *

* * *

The announcer regarded Bram coolly as they approached, and gave Lace a positively icy look.

“Ser, I am afraid your… escort is not on the list.”

“I'm quite sure I informed Aunt Clentinia,” Bram said, his brow furrowing. “My _companion_ is Lieutenant Scout Harding, highly esteemed member of the Inquisition.”

The man looked at his scroll. Lace hadn't even known it was possible to look that spiteful towards parchment.

“Ah. Lady Harding of the Inquisition. I see.”

“ _Lieutenant Scout_ Harding,” Bram corrected, his chest puffing out a little. He was really cute when he got so defensive of her.

* * *

She had practiced quite a bit for this style of dancing, and her previous experience left her pretty light on her feet. Once or twice she even got to explain to Bram how to perform a step. It was rather satisfying, but not as much as the looks of disdain, horror, and surprise she was receiving from the other guests. Bram, however, did not seem to be enjoying it at all.

“I am so sorry for my family’s treatment of you,” he whispered as they walked out of the ballroom, her arm hooked up and over his. It was an awkward position, but worth the contact.

“Don't worry about it. It was really funny watching your great-aunt’s face.”

“They have no right to look down on you. If anything they should be thanking you!”

“Did you really expect anything different?”

He sighed and looked away, to the crowd. “I had hoped they would be better mannered.”

“Oh, they've only been mildly condescending in person. I don't care.”

“ _I_ do. You deserve so much better,” he said, frowning.

* * *

“Mother, father,” Bram said with a great deal of distant respect for someone seeing his parents for the first time in years.

They were dressed in impressively matching, traditionally Starkhaven attire. Lord Kenric waved away the servant he was talking to and regarded Lace with an apathy that only hinted at his disdain. Lady Kenric likewise was attempting a small smile, but had such little motivation that it was hardly a quirk of the lips.

 

“My son,” she said, the tenseness of her face releasing as she embraced him. There, at least, was a moment of genuine happiness. “It is wonderful to see you so well after your… adventures.”

“I've been well cared for,” Bram answered as she released him. His father moved in, the hug lasting longer and with the same easing of features.

 

When Bram stepped back to Lace’s side, he offered her his arm again. She had to repress a laugh when the mild annoyance on his parents’ faces transformed into rather more overt shock and horror.

“Mother, father, may I introduce to you Lieutenant Scout Lace Harding. She has been absolutely essential to the success of the Inquisition - indeed, I would count her within the Inquisitor’s closest circle of trusted advisors.” Well, that was a bit much. Adorable of him to be advertising her so ardently, though.

 

“A… pleasure to make your acquaintance, Harding-”

“Lieutenant Scout Harding, mother,” Bram corrected.

“ _ Lieutenant Scout _ Harding,” Lady Kenric amended, her jaw tight. It was obviously a painful experience.

Lord Kenric just nodded his head in polite acknowledgement and didn't even try the title.

“I pray you will not find the festivities overwhelming,” he said with practiced politeness, the arse.

“I expect I shall manage my way around this little soirée,” Lace returned with an equal amount of politeness.

 

Lord and Lady Kenric barely did not grimace, and taking the hint this conversation was ended, turned their attention back to their son.

“My dear, have you introduced yourself to Lady Hastwick? I am sure she would be thrilled to see you,” asked Lady Kenric.

“Yes, we met her,” Bram replied, glancing at Lace.

Lady Kenric’s smile tightened, but she bravely forged on: “I expect her dance card will quickly fill, my son. You ought to make your attentions while you have the opportunity.”

“Lieutenant Scout Harding has already kindly agreed to be my partner for the night,” Bram said, the careful lightness in his tone fading. He reached over to rest his free hand on hers, laying on his wrist.

 

Lord Kenric swallowed. Lady Kenric looked set to break her fan.

“Lieutenant Scout Harding, please forgive us; I require a few moments of my son's time,” Lady Kenric said in a tone that would be a growl if it wasn't coming from such noble lips.

* * *

 

“... Had I been sent to the Chantry, you would have certainly not received any offspring, nor an advantageous marriage! Therefore you should surely be pleased I have found happiness, not disappointed in some fabricated failure!” Lace had never heard Bram so… fiery. She was becoming quite thankful she had decided to snoop. All these silly decorative nooks and crannies were pretty handy for a little dwarf scout to hide in, even if she couldn't hear what the other members of the argument were saying.

“By no means is this a petty infatuation! She means everything to me. … You can no longer threaten me. There is no greater threat than parting from her. I suspect the Inquisition’s espionage network is superior to any professional you may hire.” Then there was the slam of a door and brisk footsteps nearing her hiding spot.

 

As Bram stormed past her, unawares, Lace decided it was time for him to meet her parents.

* * *

* * *

Lace braced for impact. Contessa came charging, her massive paws tearing up the ground. Bram flinched away as Mabari met Dwarf in a barking, laughing collision.

“That is… a massive canine,” he commented nervously, clutching tightly to the reins of his horse.

“Oh, she's a sweetheart, don't worry. She only eats people when I let her,” she teased, enjoying Bram's horrified expression.

 

“Lace! You're back!”

Lace sat up, gently pushing the massive Mabari off of her, to see Mother running towards them.

Contessa knew when she was beaten; she moved aside to allow her master to be hugged by the Alpha Matron.

Eventually Mother let go, or at least leaned back enough to look at Bram, who was awkwardly shifting on his feet.

“So, this is the boy, is he?”

“Mother!” Lace exclaimed, habitually embarrassed, “This is Professor Bram Kenric.”

“Ah, yes, and I am indeed ‘the boy’, madam,” he said, adorably uncomfortable but still trying to be humorous. Maker, Bram was so cute.

 

The Harding house was not built to accommodate a Human. Bram spent dinner with his knees far closer to his ears than he was used to, but that seemed to be the least of his concerns. Contessa quickly understood both Lace’s affection for and her parents’ acceptance of this stranger, and therefore decided she liked him too. Thus the majority of Bram's meal was eaten with a huge Mabari head resting on his lap. Impressively he even managed to eat the majority of his food, despite her best efforts.

 

Bram was also terrified by the broad-shouldered dwarves happily chatting with him. Lace's parents were wonderfully trusting of their daughter, prompting them to greet her suitor with open arms rather than drawn axes. Yet Bram seemed unaware of this; he appeared to be utterly terrified of making a poor impression on these people who had clearly already accepted him.

“Thank you for the delicious meal, madam,” he murmured, bowing his head respectfully.

“It was my pleasure! We’re so happy to finally meet you - it's the least we can do.”

 

Lace could tell he was winding up for some more wearying flattery, so she reached over to rest her hand on his drool-drenched knee. “What do you say I show you the lay of the land?” she offered, wanting some time alone with him as much as anything. His cuteness had reached a critical level which needed to be remedied with a little time away from prying eyes.

“I’ll show him, lass. You can help your mother,” Father rumbled, rising to his feet. Back when Lace lived here, it was usually Father who helped Mother while Lace tended the sheep. Instantly she became suspicious of his motives. But Mother was on his side, so there was really no winning. When Bram passed Lace he looked at her as though it was the last time he would ever see her. Poor dear.

* * *

Mr. Harding was distressingly amiable. No, it was a good thing, surely, because if he had been hostile in any manner Bram may have melted into the floor. But he had read and heard enough stories to know that one must beware of the Father. So to have this one being perfectly friendly and welcoming could only mean it was a trap.

 

“This here is where she used to take the sheep,” Mr. Harding said, pointing at a path that wound its way from the corral up into the hills.

“Oh, lovely!” Bram could hardly imagine battle-hardened Lace as a simple shepherd - though he supposed she had never been “simply” anything. After all, she had been a “simple shepherd” when she'd convinced Officer Charter to hire her.

“She's a lovely girl. Woman, I should say.” Mr. Harding looked up at Bram and chuckled, “It's hard for a parent to stop seeing the little child they cradled.”

“She is one of the most respected people in the Inquisition,” Bram commented eagerly, in case Mr. Harding had not been informed. Lace tended to downplay how crucial she was to the Inquisition, especially if it might be seen as infringing on the Inquisitor’s praise.

Mr. Harding nodded proudly. “Good lass. We’re so proud of her.”

“She’s really an amazing woman, ser,” Bram said. It was lovely to finally have someone with whom he could talk about her. She'd shown him a letter home, once, and she hadn't spoken nearly enough about what she did. So he told Mr. Harding about how brave and compassionate and clever she was. How she was so wise, how much she'd taught him. How she had been absolutely instrumental in the Inquisition’s success, how much the Inquisitor still depended on her. How much Bram depended on her, from the first time she'd saved his life to today, when her every absence was a spot of darkness in his days.

 

Mr. Harding looked up at him with a familiar, playful smirk. “Sounds like you're quite fond of her.”

“I love her,” Bram replied instantly. It was the most obvious statement in the world.

Mr. Harding grinned and thumped Bram on the back.

“Good, lad. You'd better.”

* * *

“So,” Mom said, standing at the kitchen window to watch Bram carefully petting a sheep, “This is the one, is it?”

“Mother!” Lace exclaimed, her cheeks coloring, “Not even a lead-in or anything?”

Mom shrugged with a mischievous smirk. “You brought him all the way here. It can't have been easy for you both to get the time away.”

“I wanted him to meet you,” Lace explained, even though no question had been asked.

“He must be quite exceptional, to attract your attention,” Mom prompted gently.

 

Lace leaned on the other side of the window and stared out at her beau.

“He has a wonderful heart,” she said, watching the sheep gnaw on the hem of his jacket, “Probably the nicest person I know. Well, him and the Inquisitor,” she amended.

Mom pointedly kept to cutting carrots, giving the clear message that she anticipated further description.

Lace rambled on about him - how much they had in common, how he loved to learn from her, how he cared about everyone - for an embarrassingly long while. Eventually Mom looked over at her daughter and smiled.

“So, I ask again: this is the one, is it?”

 

Lace had thought about it before, in an abstract sort of way.  _ I can see myself with him in thirty years. I can't wait to raise our children. We'll be the cutest old couple. _ But to just overtly say it was new. It was strange… and strangely natural. She chuckled as Bram flinched away from an annoyed sheep.

“Yes,” she said quietly, folding her arms, “He's the one.”

* * *

 

Despite a mutual desire for parents and child to spend more time together, Lace and Bram were forcefully sent out to take their midday meal upon a nearby hillock. It had been one of her favorite places to visit, as a child. Still quite a lovely spot, especially with such charming company.

 

“Your parents are wonderful,” Bram commented, shifting the heavy basket from one hand to another for the hundredth time. He'd insisted on carrying it, clarifying upon her annoyed comment that he knew she was more capable than he to lift the load. Apparently he simply wished to not constantly require her assistance.

“Yeah, I love ‘em,” Lace replied, scratching Contessa’s ear as the Mabari stuck her head under her master’s hand.

“Very charming people,” Bram continued thoughtfully, almost tripping on a rock. Lace's steadying hand on his elbow helped save their lunch. “They've been so kind to me, particularly so if one considers the length of our acquaintance. Are they… have they always been, ah, so welcoming of your, um…”

“Suitors?” Lace filled in, smiling. Bram swallowed and nodded.

“I never liked any of the folks as much as you,” she answered playfully. Bram nervously adjusted his slipping hat and switched his grip on the basket again.

“Still, you must have introduced _some_ of them to your parents,” he pressed.

“How many suitors do you think I had?” she laughed, “I wasn't exactly the most sought-after girl in the valley.” Upon his anguished expression, Lace took pity on Bram. “I brought home one or two. My parents really like you.”

 

The dear man was so relieved. “I am very happy to hear that,” he said, “I do very much want to foster a healthy relationship with your family.” Maker, he was such a sweetheart. Lace smiled up at him and pointed him to a good spot for their picnic. He looked almost as relieved to put down the basket.

 

Together they unpacked the bread and jam, and Bram even managed not to stab himself. Contessa settled down not too far away, sprawled out in the sun. Though Lace leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the warmth, Bram remained sitting with a stiff back.

“Lace…” he began, fiddling with the bread in his hands, “Do you think I could find gainful employment with the Inquisition scouting forces?”

“Thought you already had,” she said through a jam-heavy bite of bread.

“Well, to a certain extent, but I am hardly on the… cutting edge, as it were. I was thinking I could possibly assist with the preparation of draughts or the like. That would be a more useful skill for the front line.”

“Not many buckles in potion-making,” she commented, squinting at a path she used to take the sheep on in the summer.

“N-no, certainly not, but it may allow…” The despair in his sigh made her look at him. He was staring forlornly at his morsel of bread, turning it this way and that in the sunshine. Slowly he turned his gaze to hers, and his eyes were an endearing mixture of adoration and worry.

“I do not wish to be a hindrance to you, Lace,” he explained quietly, “I am sure that being stationed so far from the action is not what you desire.”

Lace shrugged and crammed the rest of her food into her mouth. “‘s not bad. The Inquisitor still gets me out in the thick of things. It's worth it to see your cute face at night.” His cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. They had long since taken to sharing a bed on the nights she was in his camp, even though they had yet to… fully put it to use. Given how embarrassed he was by literally sleeping together, it seemed almost dangerous to his health to go further.

“Still, if I were useful in a more… present sense, a, ah, more _active_ and real sense, perhaps I could simply be posted with you. That would spare you having to constantly travel back to our position.”

“Sure, but I don't mind. Besides, there's no one better suited to do your job. No point in wasting all your talent making healing draughts.”

 

“That is very generous of you to say. It is just that I…” His eyes darted away, to the gently swaying grass. Slowly he reached up and removed his hat, placing it carefully atop the basket. Then he seemed to make up his mind, because all of a sudden he put aside his bread and pulled his legs under to kneel upon his knees. He held out his hands with almost a sense of urgency, prompting Lace to mirror his pose and take his hands. In the pit of her stomach she had an inkling as to what was about to happen, but she didn't dare assume…

“Scout Lieutenant Lace Harding,” he began in a rush, and she _knew_ , “Will you marry me?”

 

His mouth opened again, presumably to ramble on about his reasoning. That would only serve to dampen the moment, so Lace took matters - and his face - into her own hands. He toppled backwards as the full weight of his fiancée struck him. Somehow, he didn't seem to mind her laying atop him as they kissed.

“Is that, um, will you…?” he breathed when she paused to catch her breath.

 

There was only one answer to that. She loved him, truly and deeply. When she was happy, her first instinct was to share it with him. When she was upset, he was the first person she turned to. On the rare occasions they were afforded the time, they would spend hours talking with a genuine interest about all manner of things. Despite their disparate backgrounds, Lace had never felt more closely connected with anyone as she did with him.

“Yes, Professor Bram Kenric, I will marry you,” she whispered, trailing her fingers along his smooth-shaven cheeks. Bram released his held breath with an overjoyed laugh.

  
“Thank you, milady!” he exclaimed, holding her tightly against his chest, “I swear I will be the best husband I can be for you, my darling Lace.”


End file.
